


If Found Please Contact: Bruce

by Neyiea



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crush at First Sight, M/M, Selina is an actual cat, Soft!batjokes, Which is essentially canon anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-18 05:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18114644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: While taking a break from his work Jeremiah finds a cat wandering around just outside his home. He takes her in, gives her owner a call, and waits for Bruce to come pick her up. The moment Bruce's gaze lands on Selina his stoic expression melts into the softest thing that Jeremiah has ever seen, and Jeremiah knows he's a goner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a mighty need to write some soft!Wayleska, and so here we are.  
> Enjoy!

Jeremiah stumbles out of his home with no frame of reference as to what the actual time is, only that it’s dark and that the thermos of coffee he’d kept beside him as he worked had grown stone cold at some point. It’s not uncommon for him to get pulled into his own designs, like a planet being lured steadily towards a black hole, stretching himself thin as his mind worked harder than his body could handle.

He’d come across a minor problem and had finally decided to take a break, get some fresh air, let his eyes rest so that he could look at what he’d done so far clearly. There’s a cool but gentle breeze carding through his hair and he allows his eyes to fall shut, breathing in deeply. 

The usually loud sounds of the city have been dulled down to an almost pleasant white noise and he stretches his arms over his head, suddenly aware that his body aches from being hunched over for hours longer than he’d meant for it to.

He was so close to finishing his current contract, maybe only hours away. After a short break to drink something that wasn’t caffeinated and eat something with actual nutritional value he’d have to weigh the pros and cons of continuing with his work versus going to sleep.

If he finished this far before the deadline he’d have a full week to focus back on his most important personal project before his next contract was due to start. With a week he’d be able to finish the very last of the finer details, completing his most delicate and revolutionary vision at long last. After every schematic, blueprint, and report were compiled he could finally— 

There’s a rustling sound, close enough to be crisp and clear, and his eyes snap back open.

Nothing there.

He wavers on his doorstep, unsure if he wants to investigate the noise or lock himself back up in the house with his work. He doesn’t live in the middle of the bustling city, and certainly doesn’t live in what would be considered the ‘bad side of town’, but that was hardly a comfort when it was dark and he was hearing things.

There’s the sound again, coming from the overgrown bushes that line the walkway leading to his door.

His eyes take a few more moments to adjust to the dark, but soon he is able to make out the small shadow weaving through the greenery.

It’s a cat. Not a rabid dog, or some robber who’s been lying in wait for Jeremiah to foolishly unlock his door; he breathes a sigh of relief and takes a cautious step off of his porch.

The cat pauses at the sound, Jeremiah takes another step closer before he falls into a crouch.

“Hello there,” he calls softly, reaching a hand out slowly, “what are you doing out at this time of day?”

The cat stares at him, unmoving. If it was a stray it likely would have run off by now, so perhaps it’s one of those ‘outdoor cats’. Jeremiah feels his lips twist into a tight frown. It’s not safe for anyone in the city at night, least of all a defenseless animal who could easily get struck by a car, or eat something unsafe, or get snatched up by the kinds of people who thought that hurting animals counted as a sport.

“No need to be afraid, sweet thing,” he shifts a little closer, hand beckoning, “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He’d always been fond of animals. They didn’t judge you, or laugh at you, or try to talk to you when you were clearly sending out signals that you didn’t want to have a conversation.

The cat takes a step out of the shadows. It’s a tawny colour with sleek looking fur and a black collar around its neck. Jeremiah can vaguely see the glint of what must be a nametag. 

“Come here, that’s it,” he whispers, fingers tingling as the cat delicately noses the tips before stepping close enough for him to scratch behind its ears.

The ensuing sound of a purr melts some of his accumulated stress away.

“There now, I’m not that scary, am I?” He comes even closer, one hand still scratching while the other reaches for the tag on her collar.

Selina, the nametag says in cursive. Jeremiah flips it around and, yes, thankfully there is a phone number with a local area code etched into the back under a short message of ‘if found please contact: Bruce’.

“What do you say girl, want to come inside with me while I make a call?” Jeremiah reaches out to pick her up and she thankfully doesn’t immediately struggle out of his arms. He casts a look around his street, wondering if anyone was awake to catch sight of him luring Selina closer, but everything is dark and silent around him and he’s free to go back inside without worrying that any of his neighbors might try to strike up a conversation with him about this the next time they happen to see him.

The less reason for his neighbors to try and talk to him, the better.

Once inside he’s a bit reluctant to set her down. He doesn’t know if she’ll run off and hide in some hard to find corner, or if she’ll scratch at his furniture, or even worse, if she’ll find her way into his home office and make a mess of everything. He glances at the clock in his kitchen and can’t help but murmur “oh dear,” as he sees the time.

Three in the morning was probably too early to be phoning anybody, least of all a stranger.

His lips purse.

Whether he goes back to work or goes to bed, he can’t just let Selina roam around his home unsupervised. Who knows what she’d get into, though knowing Jeremiah’s luck it would probably be something devastatingly important. 

That’s what he got for doing good deeds, after all.

He valiantly tries not to think about the blueprints he’d started drawing up while still at his old job -clean energy made easy, if someone was willing to invest just enough to get started on a smaller prototype- before upper management had attempted to put a stop to it because apparently his ideas ‘weren’t what the world was ready for’. It was likely that someone else had designed a new drill for oil, or some other fuel that should be left in the past, and that was more profitable to those who were already rich.

What choice did he have except to leave the place that wanted him to forget about the project that he was the most committed to?

He doesn’t mind contract work, and he’d made enough of a name for himself during his stint at the company that even as a freelancer he doesn’t have to take every offer that comes his way in order to afford food and pay his bills, but the rejection of his intellect and passion—the very essence of him—had taken him a long time to get over.

As in, he’d never gotten over it.

He holds Selina a little tighter to his chest, but she’s apparently had more than enough coddling now because she twists out of his arms with ease and lands on her feet before dashing down the hallway. The doors to his office and bedroom are thankfully closed, but she manages to slip into the bathroom and Jeremiah finds her on top of his vanity, sniffing at his bottle of aftershave curiously before turning about face and knocking it over as she leaps back down.

The weight of all the work he’d completed since sitting himself down in his office yesterday morning sinks into his bones. Even his eyelids are starting to feel heavy.

Three in the morning was too early for any kind of polite call, but he could tell he was going to crash within a few hours at most and he’d rather not let a cat that he didn’t know the temperament or habits of run wild while he was out like a light if there was even the slightest chance that her owner might come this early to get her.

If no one picked up he’d have to shut her in the bathroom with some food and water, after taking anything breakable off of his vanity, and he imagines that she wouldn’t be very fond of him once she was let back out.

He steps into his office and finds his phone, pushing the button to dial. The ten digits flash in a sequence in his head, numbers had always been a forte of his after all, and his fingers steadily tap them out in order.

He brings the phone up to his ear and listens to it ring. Once, twice, thrice, and then there’s a click.

“Hello?” A voice groggily greets him, Jeremiah feels a brief flash of guilt for being the cause for anyone to wake up at such an hour. Perhaps he should have just shut Selina in the bathroom so that he could take a nap and then make his call after the sun had actually come up. “Who is this? How-” there’s a yawn from the other end of the line before the voice softly continues, “how did you get this number?”

“Is this Bruce?”

“What?” 

“Am I speaking with Bruce?”

“Yes.” Some of the sleepiness has left his voice. “Who is this?” His tone takes on an edge of suspicion which Jeremiah doesn’t take personally. He was an unfamiliar number calling at an indecent hour after all.

“My name is Jeremiah. I’m calling to let you know that I found Selina.”

There’s an audible hitch of breath from the other end of the line.

“You,” the voice cracks, suddenly sounding so vulnerable and young that Jeremiah worries he may have called a student on a school night, well, morning, “you found her?”

“Yes, she’s quite safe here, and looks to be unharmed, but I’m afraid my home isn’t cat-proofed, so…” Hmm, asking Bruce if he could come and get her now suddenly seemed ruder than it had before. Perhaps because his relief was so palpable even through audio-only communication. 

“ _Thank you._ Thank you so much for calling.” Bruce sounds completely awake now, though his voice is still so soft, unguarded. “I can come and get her now, if you don’t mind. What’s your address?”

So appreciative, so eager. Selina clearly was not meant to be an ‘outdoor cat’, and that knowledge makes another tense part of Jeremiah relax. He wasn’t putting her back in the care of someone who’d be letting her right back out onto the dangerous streets.

Jeremiah tells him his address and he can hear a lot of shuffling on the other end of the line, likely Bruce getting up and ready to go. 

“Great. That’s really-” his breath is hitching again. Jeremiah bites his lip and worries that whoever Bruce may be, he’s on the verge of crying over his cat, “You have no idea how much this means to me. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“It was really no problem.” Jeremiah assures him. “Right place, right time.”

“Not everyone, very few people, even, see a cat on the street and think anything’s out of the ordinary. I’ve been so worried about her that I—I’m sorry, I’m starting to ramble. I’ll be there within the hour. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” Jeremiah murmurs, and then the line goes silent.

A strange interaction, but far from the most unpleasant he’s had. Jeremiah is fairly certain that he’s never been thanked so much over the course of a few minutes as he had been just now. He slips his phone into his pocket and steps out of the office, firmly shutting the door behind him, and goes on a search for Selina.

He finds her in the kitchen, up on his countertop no less, and she knocks his peppermill onto the floor as she creeps closer to the dishes in the sink.

“Selina, down.” His snaps his fingers and she turns her head to regard him, tail lazily flicking behind her. She seems to deign to follow his directions and jumps to the floor, where she begins winding around his legs and meowing.

“Alright, alright. Your owner sounded very worried, so you’ve probably been on your own for a while and not eating well. How about I find something for you and you can cease causing chaos for a few moments?”

Selina meows agreeably.

He has to google what foods are safe for cats to ingest, he doesn’t have fish and he draws a blank on anything else a cat might like, but he does eventually set down a cereal bowl with some leftover chicken and peas, as well as a separate bowl of fresh water.

He seats himself in one of his kitchen chairs, arms folding onto the table and resting his chin atop them. It doesn’t take long for Selina to investigate what has been laid out for her, and he watches her eat with a small but satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone digging in to food I’ve prepared with such gusto,” he remarks lightly. “Of course, I think this may be the first time I’ve ever prepared food for someone other than myself.”

Selina ignores his chattering, and Jeremiah’s eyes slowly fall shut.

He’s aware of her moving around in the kitchen, and then of her leaping up onto the kitchen table to rub her furry cheek along his hand, but he can’t seem to open his eyes. He feels like he’s sinking further into the wooden furniture underneath him, every part of his body too tired to move, and then-

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he’s aware of is a knock on his door.

Jeremiah sits up quickly, startled at himself. Selina, who’d apparently chosen to settle down beside his head, looks displeased at his sudden movement.

There’s another knock and Jeremiah manages to pull himself out of the chair and get a hold of Selina before she can run off somewhere.

“Bruce is here, time to say our goodbyes,” he whispers sleepily to her as he makes his way to the front of the house, switching on his porch light before undoing the lock and swinging the door open.

The young man on his porch looks vaguely familiar, like someone Jeremiah has occasionally seen in his peripherals but has never focused his attention on. He’s wearing what looks to be pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, apparently too eager to drive down to get properly dressed. His hair is a mess, there are dark circles under his serious eyes, and the moment his gaze lands on Selina his stoic expression melts into the softest thing that Jeremiah has ever seen.

“Selina,” he chokes out as he takes three steps forward, crossing the threshold into Jeremiah’s home, hands reaching out and grabbing onto Jeremiah’s arms for support as he proceeds to bury his face in Selina’s fur. The dark hair on his head brushes lightly against Jeremiah’s throat.

Jeremiah can _feel_ his mind short-circuit as he freezes in place.

Bruce breathes in deeply and exhales, his tense shoulders relaxing, the hands laying against Jeremiah’s arms going slack. “I missed you so much, silly girl,” he whispers fondly. There’s a beat of silence and then he goes tense again, straightening out and taking a quick step back.

Jeremiah stares at Bruce while Bruce stares right back, and he could be mistaken but he’s relatively sure that they’re both more than a little red in the face.

“I am so sorry for barging in like that and invading your personal space,” Bruce begins, obviously mortified with himself, his eyes beginning to trace the air around Jeremiah to avoid looking at him directly, “I just-”

“It’s alright!” Jeremiah somehow manages to remember how to speak, though his voice is far too loud for this time of morning. He consciously quiets himself as he continues. “You’ve obviously been very distraught without her. You must have been overcome with emotion, seeing her again.” 

Jeremiah himself is feeling a bit overwhelmed, though for an entirely different reason. 

Bruce flushes darker but nods, gaze still averted. “It’s been more than a week since she managed to get out. I’ve been so worried about her. When people see a collared dog alone on a street they assume it’s run away, but when those same people see a collared cat they think nothing of it. Even though I’ve been putting up reward posters everywhere I wasn’t sure if I would-” his eyes are becoming glossy and Jeremiah feels pinned in place, “-ever see her again. You have no idea how much this means to me, I can’t possibly thank you enough.”

“Glad to be of service,” Jeremiah tells him, hardly able to hear himself over the rushing of blood in his ears, “here, I’m sure she’s missed you too.” He holds Selina out and Bruce takes her with such gentle care, his fingers brushing over Jeremiah’s briefly before he cradles Selina to his chest and places a kiss right on top of her head.

She meows up at him plaintively. 

Bruce abruptly bursts into tears.

Immediate panic floods through Jeremiah. He has no idea what to do, or how to handle this situation, or how to react like a normal, well-socialized person. 

“Oh dear, oh no,” he says to himself unhelpfully before he somehow manages to recollect some of his good sense. Usually he doesn’t invite people into his space, but he has no idea what else to do in this situation. “Here, come inside for a moment,” he lays an unsteady hand on Bruce’s shoulder and guides him through the door, then ushers him into the kitchen to sit at the table. Bruce is hiding his face in Selina’s fur, shoulders still shaking, and Jeremiah worriedly tries to keep busy and not stare, putting on the kettle and taking out every box of tea he owns as he attempts to give the young man some time to calm down.

The water has boiled by the time Bruce’s breaths have evened out, and Jeremiah nervously asks, “would you like a cup of tea?”

Bruce peeks up at him. Jeremiah can see the tips of his ears are red.

“Tea would be wonderful,” he says hoarsely, “something herbal, if you have it. No milk or sugar, thank you.”

Jeremiah takes out two mugs and puts a peppermint teabag in both before pouring in the hot water. He sets the mugs on the table and sits down across from Bruce, unsure if he should say anything. Unsure if anything he might try to say would actually manage to make it out of his mouth.

He’s not good at offering comfort. 

“God.” Bruce sits up. Selina happily stays perched in his lap, his eyes stay locked on her. “I am so sorry for all of this. I think I’ve been on the verge of crying since you called, you were just unlucky enough to witness it.”

“It’s no problem,” Jeremiah murmurs, sipping on his too-hot tea for something to do. “Are you… Alright?”

“I will be.” Bruce glimpses up for just a second. The tips of his ears, Jeremiah notes with a distant fascination, are still quite red. “You’re really too kind, taking in the stranger having a breakdown on your doorstep and offering them tea.”

Jeremiah flounders, not entirely sure how to respond. His pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to give him another few seconds to think of something to say.

“Well. How about you just think of this as making up for the fact that I woke you so early in the morning? And made you drive out here nearly as soon as I found her.”

Bruce’s lips turn upward in a small smile as he scratches behind Selina’s ears. Jeremiah averts his eyes, staring at his mug as if it holds the key to the minor problem that had lead him outside in the first place.

“I wasn’t sleeping very well anyways,” Bruce tells him, finally taking hold of the mug and taking a small sip of his tea. “Selina was a gift from my parents, the last one before-” he abruptly cuts himself off and Jeremiah feels panic again.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. It’s alright. I could tell, even from our phone conversation, that she meant a lot to you. I’m just happy that you’ve been reunited.”

“Thank you.” Bruce takes another sip of tea, Jeremiah unconsciously mirrors him. “She’s been a good friend to me over the years. Never spilled any of the secrets I told her, always lending me a shoulder to cry on.” His lips twist in a wry smile. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t take her to work with me for the next week just to catch up on all the cuddling that she’s missed.”

“She’s very fortunate to have you.”

Bruce’s eyes flick down, but his smile widens at the comment. Jeremiah’s heart flutters at the idea that he’s said something to cause such a reaction.

He is. A disaster. A human disaster.

Jeremiah probably burns the roof of his mouth by drinking half of his tea in one go, but he doesn’t know what else to say or do. Bruce drinks his at a much more leisurely pace, all of his attention on Selina while Jeremiah tries not to look at him for too many seconds at a time.

“I should get going.” Bruce says after a few minutes. “Thank you for the tea, and for, well, everything else.” Bruce lets go of Selina for a moment to dig into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a checkbook.

Jeremiah reels back, hands coming up in front of him.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. Please put that away.”

“But,” Bruce blinks his stunning eyes at Jeremiah, clearly flummoxed, “I put up reward posters.”

“I didn’t see any posters,” Jeremiah tells him as gently as he can manage. “Besides, I couldn’t possibly take anything from you. If you give one of those to me, I’ll just rip it up.”

Bruce reluctantly puts the checkbook back in his pocket. 

What kind of young man even had a checkbook in this day and age, anyways? 

“Then I guess all that’s left for me to do is thank you one last time.” Bruce reaches a hand across the table and lays it atop one of Jeremiah’s, looking right into his eyes. Jeremiah feels like he might actually be dying.

“Thank you, Jeremiah.”

“You’re welcome, Bruce.”

Bruce smiles at him again and Jeremiah tries not to fidget.

Bruce pulls something else from his hoodie pocket and Jeremiah finds himself oddly charmed when it turns out to be a leash that Selina calmly allows to be attached to her collar. The mental image of Bruce taking Selina on a stroll, possibly letting her climb partway up trees, is awfully endearing.

He stands up from the table when Bruce does and walks him to the door, letting him out onto the still-dark street and bidding him a soft goodbye which Bruce returns before he makes his way to his parked car.

Jeremiah watches him get in the car with Selina and wave once through the window before driving off to parts unknown.

He dimly registers that he still knows Bruce’s phone number by heart but he beats down the idea that wants to spring up because no, _no_ , he was not going to be some weirdo.

He could let their interaction come to its natural end and be pleased that he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself, and that he’d gotten Bruce to smile.

He’d had such a nice smile. 

Jeremiah stumbles back into the house, cheeks hot, and all but throws himself into bed without bothering to set an alarm. Maybe when he wakes up he won’t be completely embarrassed with himself for getting a crush on someone after spending less than thirty minutes in their company. Less than ten. Okay, so he’d been a goner as soon as he witnessed Bruce’s expression change the moment he’d laid eyes on Selina.

At least he’s self-aware enough to know what a walking disaster he is.

It doesn’t take long for his exhaustion to catch up with him a second time around, and when he opens his eyes again the dim Gotham light is filtering past the blackout curtains he forgot to fully close. He tosses and turns for a while but eventually he moves to get up, if only to appease his empty stomach. He puts on his glasses and grabs his phone to look at the time.

And sees that he has a new text.

From the number that he promised himself he wouldn’t be dialing again.

If his breath happens to catch in his throat, then at least there’s nobody around to notice.

He opens the message and finds himself staring at a picture of Selina on top of a folded pile of laundry. Underneath is a message, ‘Selina is back in her favorite place: on top of my clean clothes.’

That alone is enough for a smile to spread across his lips, but below that, extraordinarily, is another message.

‘I apologize if this is brash of me, but could I take you out for a coffee sometime? My treat, of course.’

Jeremiah has to re-read it five times to be sure that he’s processing the words correctly before he hastily types in ‘Yes’ and hits send.

The reply is nearly immediate and Jeremiah’s heart flutters in his chest once again. Had Bruce been waiting for him to respond? Maybe he’d made a good impression after all.

‘Great!’

And then not a minute later comes a new message.

‘It’s a date?’

Bruce’s previous texts, with their standard punctuation, probably means that the question mark is not a mistake.

He’s asking if it’s a _date._

Heat blooms across Jeremiah’s face and he has to take a deep, calming breath and steady his hands before carefully typing out and sending ‘It’s a date.’

Holy smokes. He’s going on a date with the cute guy whose cat he found.

Looks like he could get rewarded for doing good deeds after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other fic I've got in the works is almost done, so I figured I'd write a little something to get me back into the mindset for this one before I tackle the coffee date.
> 
> What's better than one dork getting a crush after a first meeting?  
> Two dorks getting crushes on each other after their first meet.

His emotions had been running too high, too wild, when the door first opened and he finally, _finally_ saw his oldest friend was safe and sound. He couldn’t think, only act, so weak with relief that as he made his way forward to burrow his face in Selina’s familiar fur he found himself reaching out for support elsewhere. It had taken too long for his mind, frazzled by the near constant worry he’d been experiencing and then flushed with joy, to realize that he’d actually grabbed onto another person for support.

He had been mortified.

He had been even more mortified when he started crying.

Bruce wasn’t used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, not anymore, and he had a reputation of being stoic, but the whole situation of losing Selina and not knowing if he’d get her back safe had been wreaking havoc on him. 

Thinking back on the situation he recalls the gentle hand on his shoulder, the soft voice guiding him inside. He’d let himself be lead into an unfamiliar house by an unfamiliar man all while hiding his face in Selina’s fur as he tried desperately to calm himself down. Having Selina with him had helped greatly and once his breathing had evened out he’d heard the man, Jeremiah, ask him if he’d like some tea.

Bruce had glanced up, had really _looked_ at Jeremiah for the first time, and. Wow.

He was not only a mess, he was a mess losing his cool over a lost-and-found cat in front of an attractive guy.

Their entire interaction was unexpected, and sweet, and made something inside of Bruce feel warmer than he’d been in a long time. Even when he was back in bed with Selina safely perched on top of his chest—the optimum position for plenty of attention—he found himself thinking about the time spent with Jeremiah and wishing that he’d thought to do something more normal to thank him, like invite him out for coffee instead of automatically pulling out a checkbook.

It nags at him, even while he starts getting ready for work, and eventually he looks through his recently made calls and stares at the number that had called him at 3:17. Then he stares at Selina, making herself at home on the clean laundry that Alfred had brought in, and he snaps a picture.

It’s just reassurance that Selina got home safe and sound, he tells himself as he composes a text to Jeremiah’s number.

Although, he thinks as he presses a goodbye kiss to Selina’s forehead before he and Alfred head out, since he was already going out of his way to keep the line of communication open…

He composes another text as Alfred drives him to the office.

And then he inwardly agonizes over the lack of response for hours. He knows it’s stupid of him, if Jeremiah had been awake so early then he was likely either a night-owl or worked night-shift, both of which would mean he would be sleeping for at least a part of the day, but he can’t quite keep himself from wishing for an immediate reply. 

He’s halfway through a pile of particularly tedious paperwork when his phone buzzes softly, alerting him of a text. Although it could be from any number of the people trusted with his personal cell number he still finds himself eager as he unlocks the screen.

‘Yes’ is the response to his question about taking Jeremiah out for coffee. A smile curls at Bruce’s lips and he quickly responds back.

‘Great!’

And he could leave it at that. Just one coffee. Just one more chance to show his thanks before he and Jeremiah part ways and maybe never see each other again. But Bruce… Well, he’s spent a lot of time in the presence of people who he would never let his guard down around, and people who definitely wouldn’t tell him to put his checkbook away, and people who would react to him crying over a lost-and-found cat as if he were crazy instead of saying something as unbelievably kind as “she’s very fortunate to have you”.

‘It’s a date.’ He types out, then furrows his brows as he stares at his punctuation. Maybe he’d been such a mess that he’d imagined a certain amount of chemistry between them, however…

He thinks about Jeremiah’s wide, startled eyes, and the rosy hue on his cheeks when Bruce had laid a hand over his. He thinks about how he wouldn’t mind taking hold of his hand again, if Jeremiah was agreeable to such an action.

He thinks that it’s worth taking a chance to find out.

Bruce abruptly changes the period to a question mark and sends the text before he can second-guess himself.

The affirmative response is enough to make him smile for the rest of the work day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had the energy to write 30K word-count fanfics successively I would probably put more into this, but I've got to hash out some one-shots to revitalize myself or I will burn right out.  
> Don't worry, I'll get back to writing more soft!batjokes soon enough.  
> Enjoy! <3

When Saturday dawns, three days after they’d agreed on their coffee date—and Jeremiah’s mind still boggles that something like this has happened to him—he wakes up to another picture of Selina, this time with her leash on and in the middle of a walk around what looks to be a very nice park. Bruce seems to have a habit of starting each morning and ending each night with a photo of her, which somehow makes him even more endearing. If he were any cuter Jeremiah might spontaneously combust out of sheer affection.

He types out a quick response before slipping out of bed, his heartrate already in the midst of an uptick.

Today is the day. In a few hours he, loner extraordinaire, will be going on a casual yet extremely nerve-wracking date with someone who, based on the in-person and text-based interactions they’ve had thus far, is practically perfect in every way. Or at the very least really, _really_ Jeremiah’s previously undetermined type. He’d almost be worried about making a fool of himself, but if Bruce had liked him after the first impression he made—during which he had been more frazzled than usual due to certain unexpected emotional reactions—then he didn’t think it likely that their second in-person interaction would lessen him in any way.

Self-confidence; that was what he needed.

He’d graduated high school two years early. He was a successful engineering freelancer. His ideas could change the world. Bruce liked him enough that he texted every day and kept sending him pictures of his cat. 

His phone buzzes softly and Jeremiah snatches it back up, feeling distinctly warm in the face as he reads the text; Bruce letting him know that he’s excited for the day ahead.

God. What was he going to wear?

Time blurs together in a way that usually only happens when he’s captivated by an interesting project. He eats a light breakfast, showers, shaves, ensures that his hair is behaving itself and goes through what seems like the entirety of his closet to find colours and textures that make his best features pop. He might not go out often—or ever—but he’s always had a penchant for dressing well.

He can only hope that he hasn’t ended up overdressing; he doesn’t want to come across as pretentious.

His phone buzzes again a little less than an hour before they’re due to meet; Bruce letting him know that he’s in the midst of leaving his house.

Jeremiah briefly presses his phone to his mouth, as if to conceal his smile, texts back ‘See you soon!’, and twenty minutes later he heads out on foot. 

The walk won’t take long since Bruce had insisted on going somewhere in Jeremiah’s area, but he’s the type of person who has to be early to being early. When he arrives on the designated street he takes a seat on a bench not far from the café and passes the time by re-reading the texts he and Bruce have been sending back and forth.

Just looking at the messages makes him smile. He’s such a goner.

‘Hello there.’

His eyes snap up. Across the street, leaning his forearms against the roof of his car with phone in hand is Bruce. He smiles and waves when Jeremiah’s eyes land on him, and Jeremiah quickly returns the gesture.

As Bruce waits for a gap in traffic Jeremiah can’t help but notice that his car, which he hadn’t gotten a good look at the other morning, looks very new and very expensive. Not that he knows much about cars, he relies on the more economic methods of walking and public transit to get around, but even to his eye the graceful lines and matte finish scream money.

That helps to explain why someone Bruce’s age has a checkbook in the time of e-transfers, at least.

And, just like that, something in his mind abruptly clicks.

The familiarity of his face, the car, the way he’d alluded to a tragedy involving his parents. Jeremiah doesn’t pay much attention to gossip masquerading as news or local celebrities, but even with that as an excuse it’s utterly ridiculous that it’s taken him this long to realize that Bruce is not just an incredibly cute and likable cat owner. The revelation makes him feel a little dizzy.

Bruce, unaware of the groundbreaking discovery that is his identity, jogs across the street and comes to a stop in front of him.

Jeremiah opens his mouth, can’t think of what to say, and purses his lips back together in embarrassment.

Bruce’s eyebrows furrow in evident concern. Jeremiah can feel the blood rush to his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine. I’ve just connected a few dots, is all.” Even when he averts his eyes to look at his shoes he can feel Bruce’s attention intensify. “So,” he clears his throat and peers up from beneath his eyelashes, “Bruce Wayne, huh?”

Bruce is silent for a few seconds, his hands slipping into his pant pockets as he briefly looks away. “You’ve just figured it out?”

Jeremiah nods and Bruce rocks back on his heels. Then a determined look settles over his face and he takes a seat on the bench beside Jeremiah, a several inch gap separating them.

“I had briefly wondered if you realized when we first met. I was fairly certain, and I do admit I was a bit hopeful, that you didn’t know.”

Jeremiah glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Bruce’s gaze is fixed upwards, a small, fond sort of smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“I’m not entirely used to new acquaintances being so… Genuinely kind to me. Overly nice, yes. It’s different when people are good because they’re good, versus because they want something in return.” He turns to look at Jeremiah and closes the gap between them by half. “The way you treated me when we met was sweet, almost like something out of a novel.” His smile widens by a fraction and of course Jeremiah’s heart flutters at the sight. “I was really happy when you texted me back.”

I was happy to see that you’d texted me at all, is what Jeremiah wants to say, but he feels like his brain is rebooting itself after receiving too much positive information at once. 

Bruce’s faint smile slips away and his excellent posture begins to droop as his gaze focuses on the cement underneath them.

“I hope that this isn’t causing you to re-think our plans.”

“Oh, no.” That, at least, is enough to make him capable of speech again. “Not at all. I just needed a moment or two to process.” Jeremiah shifts closer, just a few centimeters, and he pushes his glasses further up his nose before settling his hands on his knees. Bruce looks at him, his expression mostly neutral but with something hopeful in his eyes. “I’m not a Gotham native so I’m not as familiar with local celebrities as someone who’s lived here their entire life, but I still feel as though I should have recognized you sooner.”

Relief washes over Bruce’s face. “Well, that’s good news for me.” The faint smile is back. “This way you won’t have my life story memorized; maybe you’ll actually be interested when I talk about myself.”

How could anyone be disinterested in something that Bruce had to say?

“Of course I’ll be interested.” He looks down at his hands. “You could talk to me about anything and I’d be interested. Even if it’s just about how Selina has been since she’s come home.”

Bruce chuckles and leans in to nudge at Jeremiah with his shoulder. “Don’t tempt me. I use up a lot of restraint to keep myself from sending you more than two pictures of her a day.”

“You could send more, if you wanted.”

Bruce’s expression softens and when he turns his head to look out into the street Jeremiah can see the reddening tips of his ears, and the rouge starting to bloom over his cheekbones.

He doesn’t know what kind of people Bruce is surrounded by, but he can’t help but think a bit poorly of them if Bruce is so touched just because Jeremiah is willing to listen to him talk about Selina, whom Bruce has literally referred to as his oldest friend. He resolves to do all that he can to show Bruce that he deserves the sort of open companionship where he doesn’t have to worry about speaking of things that interest and excite and are important to him. Even if this entire date ends in catastrophe, he’d like to think that they could still salvage enough to stay friends. 

He suspects that Bruce, much like himself, doesn’t have very many good friends.

Jeremiah turns on an angle, his knee brushing the outside of Bruce’s thigh. Two young men on a date, one of them might be wealthy enough to actually own the city, but he’s also cried upon being reunited with his cat, and has been sending Jeremiah pictures of her every day, and was the one to take the first step to stay in contact. 

Jeremiah’s nervousness recedes. There’s nothing to worry about, because even if he crashes and burns he thinks that Bruce probably likes him enough to keep talking to him.

“Shall we go inside?” He stands up and hesitantly holds out his hand. 

“I’d love to.” Bruce doesn’t hesitate to take hold of it and uses Jeremiah’s support to help pull himself to his feet.

It’s a short walk to the front door and in just over a minute they step inside the cozy atmosphere of the coffee shop. The exposed wooden beams, mismatched furniture, and constant aroma of freshly ground espresso had quickly charmed Jeremiah when he first moved into the area for his old job. He used to drop in every morning for coffee to-go before getting on the bus that would take him downtown. Now that he works from home he doesn’t go out for his caffeine fix as often, but the familiarity of his old haunt is soothing. It makes him feel more confident than if he’d been led into an entirely new setting.

He looks over at Bruce, who’s casting an interested glance around. Jeremiah distantly registers that the dim, warm-toned lighting suits him as they make their way up to the register.

The worker behind the counter recognizes him from his days as a regular and cheerily asks, “the usual?” and after Jeremiah nods their attention turns to Bruce and, obviously recognizing him on sight, their eyes widen almost comically.

Bruce, either used to this sort of reaction or too polite to bring attention to it, steps forward to order, “one large Americano with two sugars on the same bill, please.” Then he slides a bill across the counter with a subdued smile.

The barista nods, star-struck, and quickly punches in the order and gives Bruce back his change which he transfers into the tip jar without a second thought.

“I’ll bring it out to you in just a few minutes, if you’d like to sit.”

“Thank you.” Bruce turns to Jeremiah, eyes darting around. “Where would you like to go?”

Jeremiah guides him towards the back of the establishment where a few ancient but comfortable wingback chairs reside, angled towards each other and separated by a small coffee table.

“So.” Once they’re seated Jeremiah tries to keep his hands still without luck; adjusting his glasses, and then idly playing with his cufflinks. “How has Selina been acclimatizing to life back home?”

“Wonderfully,” Bruce breaths, the relief still starkly evident in his tone. Jeremiah wonders how many people were aware of just how much her disappearance had meant to Bruce. Wonders how many people cared enough to offer him comfort while she was gone. “I’ve been taking her on walks every day to try and keep her curiosity of the outdoors sated, and she’s back to her usual self. Almost like she never left.” Bruce turns in the wingback to face Jeremiah a little more fully, his hands folded in his lap. “Would you find it redundant if I thank you one more time?”

“Only if you think it’s unnecessary for me to tell you again that I was just happy to be of service.”

Bruce smiles and ducks his head, apparently pleased by Jeremiah’s response. “Then I suppose, with my profound gratefulness no longer a topic of conversation, we could start getting to know each other better.”

“I’d like that,” Jeremiah says, shifting a few inches forward in his seat. There are only a handful of other patrons in the coffee shop and they’re speaking with low enough voices that he can hear Bruce just fine, but he still wants to ensure that he can make out every word.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement, then.” Bruce’s eyes momentarily flick to the side, which gives Jeremiah enough of a warning to not startle when the barista appears in his peripheral vision, setting their coffees down along with a plate of almond biscotti which they assure Bruce is on the house before they disappear back behind the counter.

“So,” Jeremiah takes a fortifying sip of his drink, “where do we even begin? We don’t know a whole lot about each other.” Most of the messages they’d exchanged had had a certain feline focus. “I didn’t even know your full name until five minutes ago.” And he will probably be embarrassed about that for forever, even if Bruce thought that how nice he’d been while unaware of his identity was charming. 

“I still don’t know your full name,” Bruce reminds him. “We can start from there.”

“Jeremiah Valeska.”

Bruce holds a hand out to him in a mirror of the gesture Jeremiah had made earlier. “It’s lovely to see you again, Jeremiah Valeska.”

Jeremiah takes his hand, expecting Bruce to give him a handshake. “Likewise, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce doesn’t shake his hand, just holds it without making any move to let go, and Jeremiah’s heart beats a little faster with each second that passes.

“I…” Bruce averts his eyes, his fingers twitching minutely. “I’m not used to talking about myself to people who don’t read up on my life story in newspapers and gossip magazines beforehand. Or who don’t already know all that there is to know about me.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m not going to go home at the end of the day and fact check what you say to me against an article.” He gives Bruce’s hand what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “I’m not used to talking about myself either, so we’re pretty well matched. We’ll stumble through this together. We can start simple, if you like; what’s your favorite fruit? Mine is mango.”

Bruce chuckles lowly. “I like peaches. Favorite colour? Mine is yellow.”

“A tie between purple and green.” Jeremiah takes another sip of his coffee. “Favorite novel?”

They circle through sets of benign questions, the both of them relaxing a little bit more with each quick, simple answer. Hard-hitting queries have no place here, in this comfortable environment where Jeremiah can watch Bruce unwind; his posture loosening into something more casual, his speech turning less formal. It reminds Jeremiah of drinking peppermint tea at his kitchen table, only with less burns to the roof of his mouth because he wasn’t quite so nervous this time around.

There’s something about Bruce’s continued openness that makes him easy to relax around. Maybe a part of Jeremiah recognizes him as a kindred spirit and realizes that Bruce is someone who he can afford to be honest with. So just as Bruce speaks fondly of Selina and the caretaker he refers to as Alfred, and mentions a few fond memories he has about his parents with eyes that gaze, unfocussed but happy, at his coffee, Jeremiah finds himself opening up about his own family in a way that he hasn’t in a long time. He can’t bring himself to talk about the more recent bits of drama, but he touches on the older memories, back when things were simple and familial love was effortless.

As far as anyone from his old job was aware Jeremiah was probably an only child with no living relatives to speak of. He’d never gone out of his way to correct them, not only due to the fact that he didn’t want to incite additional conversation or curiosity about what his life was like before moving to Gotham, but because thoughts about his family could make him feel so mixed up.

In this moment, though, all he feels is a fond pang in his chest. It’s nice, to only focus on the good for a change, even if it would be unreasonable to do so all the time.

He’s sketching out a circle maze on a clean napkin; tales of the past had prompted Bruce to ask him about hobbies he’d had as a child and Jeremiah had been eager to go a little more in-depth about his love for labyrinths, and when he glances up he sees Bruce gazing at his drawing avidly.

“Your linework is very neat,” Bruce tells him when he notices Jeremiah’s shift of focus. “Are you an artist?”

“Engineer,” Jeremiah replies, his eyes dropping back down and his pen flowing confidently over the napkin to trace a few twists and dead-ends. “It’s one of the skills of my trade, I suppose. That and I have a fondness for architecture. I’ve been drafting since high school.”

“Where do you work?”

“Currently I freelance. I did work at a firm in the city, but I felt that my ideas weren’t being given the recognition that they deserved. It’s amazing how people will try to stifle progress just so that they can make more money.” He grabs a biscotti and averts his eyes, still as sore as ever about the rejection of his passion project. “I like working for myself, though. And I do quite well.” He makes a few final touches.

“It was their loss,” Bruce says, even though he has no way of knowing how good of an engineer Jeremiah is. He just believes in Jeremiah implicitly. “I’d love to see some of your work someday. Even if I might not fully understand the details,” he leans forward to slip the napkin out from under Jeremiah’s fingers and brings it closer to himself, looking it over with the same esteem that one might have while admiring a painting in a gallery, “I’m sure what you create is beautiful.” He glances back up at Jeremiah, no doubt sees the rampant flush on his face, and smiles as he pulls out a pen of his own to start tracing a path through the labyrinth that Jeremiah had created.

Jeremiah finishes off the last of his coffee, delighted at the compliments and Bruce’s obvious interest in his work. He hadn’t expected their date to go quite this well. “I could show you sometime,” he offers, “if you’re interested.”

Bruce sits back, admiring the finished puzzle before his eyes flick back up. “I am. Next time?”

“Next time,” Jeremiah promises, setting the empty mug on the table. Bruce had finished his own drink before Jeremiah had starting drawing, and he supposes this means that their date is coming to its natural conclusion. But there’s a next time in the works.

Jeremiah’s mind is already buzzing with exhilaration.

They linger a few more minutes, Bruce asking about what parts of the city he’s most familiar with and which places he hasn’t had the opportunity to explore yet. Possibly compiling some sort of checklist of Gotham’s must-experience date attractions and figuring out which ones should take top priority. 

When Bruce rises from his seat, hands slipping back into his pockets, he gives Jeremiah a hopeful look and asks, “Can I give you a lift home?”

They’ll be in the car for less than five minutes, and most of that time will likely be spent waiting at red lights and stop signs, but Jeremiah isn’t going to say no to the offer to spend another handful of minutes in Bruce’s company.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he says as he lifts himself to his feet.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Bruce promises. They walk out of the café and towards Bruce’s car together.

“Perhaps,” Bruce starts after he’s pulled into the slow-going traffic, “before we make plans for our next outing, you could come over to my place for a visit? We could watch a movie and have dinner. And you could see Selina again.”

Jeremiah is going to end up melting into a puddle, considering how warm Bruce makes him feel.

“I’d like that.” It would be nice to see Selina again. And spend time with Bruce again. And everything about that plan, really.

Sitting together on a couch, in the dark, Bruce’s features dimly lit by the television screen…

“Great. I tend to put in a lot of hours at the office during the work-week, but I’m sure if I take it easy for one day and end up leaving on time no one would mind.” They come to a stop at a red light and Bruce shoots him a smile. “And I’d like to see you again sooner than next weekend, if at all possible. I could pick you up and drop you off, if that makes it easier.”

Jeremiah would agree to it even if he had to rely solely on public transit and walking to get there.

“That sounds nice. Maybe we could aim for Wednesday?” Weekdays don’t mean a lot to him in terms of work, but he remembers the middle of the week being a drag back when he was at the office. Maybe setting it for midweek will give Bruce a little something more to look forward to. A nice change of pace from the repetitive cycle he was caught up in. 

He could probably use a break, if he almost always stays late to get more work done.

“Wednesday sounds good.” The light turns green and they’re off again, Bruce turning down the residential street that will eventually lead him into Jeremiah’s neighborhood. “I’ll probably be able to make it to your place from the office at around 5:30, 5:50 at the latest.”

“I’ll be ready.”

They turn onto his street, and soon Bruce is coming to a stop in front of Jeremiah’s home.

“I had a good time.” More than a good time, even. He doesn’t think he’s connected with someone so quickly, ever.

At the risk of sounding corny; Bruce had traveled the winding, convoluted paths leading to Jeremiah’s heart like an expert, finding his way through just as quickly as he’d solved the labyrinth that Jeremiah had drawn for him. And Jeremiah is certain that he’s managed to make his way past some of Bruce’s defenses much faster than the other young man is used to letting people in; his insight and authenticity proving just as versatile a key as Bruce’s devotion and gentleness.

They really are well matched. 

It’s thrilling. 

“I did too,” Bruce answers as he looks at him, and Jeremiah watches with a familiar fascination as colour starts to rise in his cheeks. “I’ll text you,” Bruce vows, and then before Jeremiah can move to take off his seatbelt he leans in to press his lips to Jeremiah’s cheek. 

He leans back, looking pleased with himself, and Jeremiah wants to press kisses to the tips of his red, red ears. He lifts a hand up to his face, feeling almost as if he’s in a daze.

Wednesday can’t come soon enough.


End file.
